


CHARACTER BIOS

by marsfr



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsfr/pseuds/marsfr





	1. JERSEY

BASIC

NAME  
jersey ray eriksen  
(jur-zee eer-ay air-ik-son)  
never given a real name, jersey ended up being named by many people he'd met along the way, and eventually warmed up to it himself. meanwhile, his last and middle names are those of his fathers, names he never knew and would never take. but, technically, they are his.

GENDER  
male, as well as male assigned at birth.

AGE  
16-29  
although jersey never knew his birthday, he is usually able to give a rough estimate at what age range hes at depending at when everything is set and where he is at at his timeline/development.

ORIENTATION  
straight. for the most part.

PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM  
eduard badaluta, obviously modified for scars, etc.  
young fc - young leo dicaprio

VOICE CLAIM  
fezco - euphoria

jersey is a giant, standing at 6'6, yet only 149 pounds. he has pale skin, that barely tans in the summer, despite all of the time he spends outside. he has short hair, color changing depending on the point in his timeline hes at. 16-21 is dark brown, 22-25 is bleached, 25-29 is black. his bones are visible through his skin, his ribs stick out, yet he still manages to wear XXL clothes due to his height.

jersey has a scar going through his eyelid from where it was torn open whenever he went blind in his left eye, leaving his left a pale blue with a film over it, quite the contrast from the hazel of his right. he has long, thin but deep scars curling around his shoulders and sides coming from his back. jersey has scars on his inner elbow from scratching himself raw, as well as track marks which go from his shoulders to his wrists.

he has both ears pierced, yet hardly wears anything in the holes, as well as long fingernails, usually caked with blood and dirt underneath them.

he has the distinct smell of chemicals and cigarettes, which may sound good in theory, but doesnt exactly mix well at all.

jersey has sharp collarbones and ribs, his joints stick out as well as his spine. though he doesn’t quite look like he’s dying, it’s very clear that he’s unhealthy.

PERSONALITY

jersey is an asshole, theres no doubt about it. he means it, too. he has the "if I constantly lash out, nobody will bother me" logic. he treats everyone who shows him care like shit, and falls in love with any girl who treats him like garbage.

jersey treats the whole world like a joke, the majority of the time. when hes sober, he halfway acts like a saint. but, hey, when does that ever happen?

jersey will refuse every single offer anyone makes to help him, every time someone is kind to him and explains to him his options of how to help himself, he lashes out.

jersey really does find it hard for him to care about people, that, of course, doesn't explain or excuse the way he treats people. hed claim he couldnt help it.

jersey never stops acting recklessly, and has no care for the safety of himself or those around him whenever he does the things that he does. he comes off as cold, and hateful, as well as rude and inconsiderate. he denies he has any sort of problem, and claims every single decision he makes is his and his alone, and there is not a reason in the world for it. he just "likes it."

theres no doubt about the fact that he wants to die. he lives for the rushes, the highs, the feeling of euphoria, and of, most importantly, the feeling of dying, the feeling of his breath slipping away from him.

FAMILY

MOTHER  
jerseys mother is a cold woman, who near never spoke, leading jersey to somehow believe that she had her tongue cut out by his father. even though hed heard her whisper. she may have been afraid to speak out about what was happening in their home, but that can never excuse her actions of never stepping in, never choosing to help the situation.

FATHER  
jerseys father was only "sir". he was around 6'2, and without fail fucked up jerseys life again and again up until jersey grew to be bigger than him. he was a cruel man, but did not deny or try to hide it the way his mother did. he wanted constant control of everything. every step his son took, every time his son inhaled. it had to be a certain way. as much as jersey hates his father and refuses to see it, they are similar in the way that they treat people.

CHILD  
jersey has met only one of his children, despite having around 3 (why did it say 17 before omg) of them. the child is a little boy, by the name of xander. his mother is not a good woman, by any standards, and is a pathetic excuse for a mother. the child lives in detroit, michigan with his mother, and jersey rarely visits. but when hes near there, he, surprisingly, always tries to visit. and he, not so surprisingly, always gets the door slammed in his face.

𝗣𝗔𝗦𝗧

a small, very young boy, standing at 5'2, on a concrete-hard bed in the middle of a freezing, completely stripped bare room. the only thing that sat near was a bedside table, a lamp that had long since stopped working, and a bible.  
previously mentioned bed had no sheets. the previously mentioned boy had no shoes, wore only a short-sleeved shirt and sweatpants, despite the fact that it was the winter.  
he was biting at his nails, tears were rolling down his cheeks, hell, damn near freezing. at this point, he had been locked in his room for three days. three days ago he had broken his ankle whilst working outside.  
no, it wasnt a coincidence. no, he hadnt left at all in three days. he could barely cry. he hadnt eaten or drank anything. the room smelled of piss and oddly, fire.  
yeah, the fireplace was in the next room. of course it was.  
he tried to think of the positives. he did! at least he wasn't locked in the closet. so, maybe he was lucky? maybe. maybe, maybe.  
the boy, sitting on the bed, in the empty room, was Jersey. only eleven years old, though he didnt know it. he had recently graduated from school, his mothers homeschooling which consisted of learning to read and write, and learning basic math up to long division.  
he stood, very slowly, before lowering himself and crawling under his bed to sleep, the warmest spot in the room.

when morning came, it was colder than the night before, but his door was unlocked. at least he could leave.  
as in, leave to go outside and work.

for the most part, this was and had always been his daily routine. he was fed once a day, usually some sort of soup. he had never had "real food", never had anything that, really, had any sort of taste. they gave him meat once a week. that was the only """good""" thing. how he stayed conscious with so little he ate and how much work he did, he had no idea. he looked like he was dying, you would be able to see the tendons in his inner elbow. the skin was tight up against them.

when he was nine, his father had grabbed him by the wrists and held his hands against the hot top of the gas stove, he could feel his skin bubble up, literally. it was for trying to sneak food, he’d been so hungry he couldn’t walk, so thirsty he couldn’t even scream when it happened.

when jersey was eight, he had gone through a phase where he would try to run out of the house to get away, and was nearly always locked in his room. his father would sometimes go to lengths to leave the door just barely unlocked, so jersey would think it was an accident, and run out, only to be confronted and chased back to his room by his father. and, well, he’d always walk out with a couple broken fingers, until he couldn’t use any of them for about a month.

when he was ten, he had gotten frostbite for the first time, for sleeping out in the freezing cold, in the negative 30s, and he was so uneducated and confused about what it is that he panicked and thought he was dying. at this point, he’d lost almost all of the hope he could’ve had about begging for help, and didn’t tell anyone. keep that in mind, because he keeps the behavior of not looking for help his whole life.

from a young age, he’d been forced to watch sexual acts between his father and his mother, what he’d had to assume was rape, because he didn’t understand why else his mother would be alright with him being forced to watch. he’d have to kneel with his hands behind his head, and if he tried to leave, made a sound, or even cried or threw up stomach acid, he’d be beaten. most of the places where his back split open from being beaten likely needed stitches, and got infected, causing the long, thin scars on his back, that stuck out and took many years to completely heal from him picking at them and not taking care of them, barely able to look at them in a mirror. due to both of these things, the abuse made him hyper sexual in his future leading to yet another addiction, and he never would take his shirt off in front of people unless he was so high that he couldn’t remember that the scars were there.

course, growing up he’d always assumed this was something completely normal. he could barely register the idea of other people aside from he and his parents existing, he had never met anyone else. it was even harder for him to imagine that other children at nine were having their parents read them to sleep, having them kiss them goodnight, tuck them in, say I love you, all while he was locked in his closet, cradling his burnt hands, the feeling of his melted flesh bubbling still seared into his mind.

he’d never used technology. their house was lit with lanterns, the first time he saw a lightbulb he nearly had a heart attack. completely isolated from everything.

he'd learned what hunger really was in his childhood, instead of a slight want for something in the mid afternoon, just coming home from school, it was more of a close friend, something that sometimes would keep its distance. but never would it leave completely.

this was every day. every day of his life.

until he was fourteen. fourteen, his lucky number. the day he discovered what the world really was. the day he saw a car for the first time. he didn't know it, but yes, it was his fourteenth birthday.  
jersey had never before left the property, not once, not ever in his fourteen years of life. the town below the hill he lived on was a ghost town. most of the shops were empty. sure, there were a few, just enough to where his parents never had to leave the town to get food, or anything theyd need. the closest thing hed ever been allowed to leaving the property was walking a bit to the right of the house to the nearby small shack, which his parents had called their church. where he would go every morning to pray.  
there were never cars on the road in front of the hill. at least, not when jersey had been outside.  
when he'd seen it, he was, obviously, confused. scared, even.  
he walked, very slowly, down the hill. he had never done this before. he completely underestimated how slick it would be, he slipped on the ice on a rock, surely breaking his ankle whenever he tripped, skidded the rest of the way down, and into the middle of the road, where the last thing he saw was headlights.

when he woke up, he was in a place he couldn't identify. he was in a bed, with white sheets. the walls were a pale color, the lights were fluorescent, so bright they were blinding him, considering his house was lit by candles. there was a man in a blue, v-necked, short-sleeved shirt, with pants the exact same color. a nametag was pinned to his shirt.  
jerseys parents were nowhere to be seen. he was glad.  
until he felt the crushing pain in his shoulder. right one. he didnt know it until later, but when that car had hit him, a part of the fence post it drove him up against had gone all the way through his right shoulder.  
it was covered in bandages. it's a miracle how he didn't lose his arm.  
over the next few days, he had gotten to know a few people around the hospital. though they insisted to keep him longer for more examination, assuming he had a serious head injury due to his lack of understanding of, well, everything, his parents denied. after the fifth night at the hospital, hed seen them for the first time, and theyd dragged him out by his wrist.  
he wasnt to go back home.  
first days out in the real world, not only did he get hit by a car, he'd been kicked out of his house, which happened to be the only place he had ever seen.

he lived in north dakota. it was winter. he was cold.

he didnt legally exist, he had no social security number, no birth certificate. he couldnt get a job. he couldnt go to school. he couldnt even go into fucking foster care. and on top of it, he had a broken ankle.

he didnt even know what country he lived in. he didnt know shit about shit. he didnt know where was warm, he thought everywhere was cold.  
he, slowly but surely, developed a habit of hitching rides by asking people where they were going and responding to whatever they said with "that's far enough".  
people asked him where he was going, often. hed never had a consistent story, and, truth was, no one actually gave a shit. they just wanted to be sure they weren't helping him with whatever illegal deed he was up to. he told a man he was looking for his dog (two states away) and the man had just given him a look, and driven anyways.

he ended up in detroit by summer, after around a month of sleeping in alleys to stay warm, homeless people offering him cigarettes to warm him up.  
it was october 8th, 5:27 pm, the day he then proceeded to claim as his birthday. something like, "it's where my real life started".  
one day after finally arriving somewhere where there was actual civilization, he had a gun pointed to his head.

the day he went blind, he had first had a knife to his throat, and panicked, he started prying hands off of him, and, in the man's attempt to get him under control, his knife slashed across Jersey's cheek, up, through his eyelid, peeling off a bit of his eyeball.  
when the man pulled his gun as an alternative, jersey had no clue what it was. he had never seen a gun before. he didnt know what the mans threats meant. the man had pulled it from his waistband, and hit jersey around his temple with it. when jersey fell, he tried his hardest not to cry, although tears had already started. it hurt so, unexplainably bad. blood started flowing and wouldnt stop, it started clumping together in his hair. to this day hed still say that's the hardest anyone had ever hit him in the face, although this would happen multiple times in his future.  
the man straightened up and pointed it at jersey. he had no clue what the man thought hed had, he had nothing, nothing in his pockets, no money, no anything.  
hed heard it again and again, "young thing like you". it was something people usually said to girls.  
he hadnt met many women, and the first he met was this man's (who was still somehow under the impression he'd been robbing jersey of something) girlfriend. she was short with, long, cheap nails, fake just about everything. blue eyes, long, dark brown hair. she was too skinny, he told himself, as if he was one to talk. her arms were scratched raw, track marks lining them.  
she'd dragged her boyfriend off of jersey, and started shrieking at him. she was somewhat pretty before she'd opened her mouth. she was one of those people that thinks being loud is a personality trait.  
she was yelling, yelling about how Jersey was young, how people could be watching them, how, how, how. again and again.  
she stomped the ground next to jerseys head, cheap, heeled shoes nearly crushing his skull.  
“get the fuck out of here. cute young thing like you, got nothing to do around somewhere like this."  
he got up, shaking, and ran until he couldnt feel his legs. he must have passed out, because when he woke up inside of a hospital again, he was getting asked all sorts of questions.  
his eye was covered by bandages, his eyelid had been sewn back together, his eye was "broken", as hed put it. he couldn't see out of it.  
he'd asked for a few moments by himself, and climbed out of a window, not bothering to find his clothes again. he took the bandages off of his head. he didn't want to see what his eye looked like.  
in a panic, he took a rock, and broke through the window of a store. it was the middle of the night. an alarm sounded. he stole a pack of cigarettes from under the counter, probably an employee's, a few clothes, changed, and ran out of the store. he wouldnt go back to detroit for a LONG time, out of fear from that one experience. he was convinced he was the most wanted criminal in the country.  
he had moved to New Jersey, stayed until he turned fifteen. sleeping on the streets there was decent. cold. but that was something he could live with.  
it's where he'd gotten his name. most everyone knew him around there, around the streets. shop owners gave him leftover food, the same strange older people tried taking him home every few weeks. but he would run. it was like he was always running.  
keep in mind, jersey knew near nothing about the real world. sure, he was learning more every day, but he didnt really know anything. he knew the basic, tiny, tiny things. yet it seemed like so much to him.  
he’d been unable to find any way to make money at this point other than stealing, so had relations with older men (sometimes women) for a bit of cash on the side. he is bisexual, but generally stays away from relationships with men due to this particular trauma.  
he had a habit of taking things from strangers, always had. whether it be so simple as a ride, or food.  
he needed a ride. that was what was in his mind. it was freezing cold out, snowing, he needed to get to the other side of town to some resteraunt that was open 24 hours and lock himself in a bathroom stall and sleep on the ground. it was one of those men. of course. who else would pick someone like him up so late?  
the first drug addiction hed ever had started on his fifteenth birthday. too young. all because someone knocked him out with god-knows-what when he was in the passenger seat of their car, around 2 am.  
of course, he passed out instantly. he was pretty sure nothing that bad happened. he had around 25 dollars in cash that was missing. his only possession, basically. hed been passed out behind some trees for around a day and a half. his entire body was numb. he could barely walk. he was starving. and on top of it, his ears were ringing, his eyes watering, and he was vomiting.  
but he liked it, for obvious reasons. being that out of it. not really feeling anything at all. he fell in love.  
he pursued drugs, not knowing what names they were under, and eventually got mixed up with some not-so-great people, obviously. where else would it get him?  
drug dealers. the name would put a nasty name in his mouth even when he became one, later on. he hated them. always thought they were worse than the drug dealers themselves. because they were the ones that tore the families apart, the ones that hurt people.  
it was around 3 weeks after. he was refusing to leave a dealer's house. of course, it was no secret, jersey was an idiot. that or he genuinely didn't care about what happened to him. which also, in it's own way, made him an idiot.  
his first experience with a distributor was not a good one. not near. it was really his attitude, if you show weakness, somebody will take advantage of it. in about ten minutes he'd had a gun to his head. he almost wished he'd left when tony had said his guy was coming. he also almost wished the distributor would hurry up and do it already.  
why did HE have to be the one to test the product. of all people. not the dealer, not the distributor. jersey, the poor fifteen year old kid who got caught in the middle of this mess.  
pure crystal. 

yeah, enough to say he was in love. hell, he started stealing money just to buy some. because it was so. much. money.  
he made good friends with tony. despite their meeting being so horrible.  
jersey started changing. the more drugs he did, the more he spiralled downward. he became a different person. he got older. and at the same time, sadder. as stupid as it may sound. he didnt feel sad, he felt great. he would look in the mirror and tell himself that.  
tony was his friend. which is why it made jersey so upset whenever he realized he was going to have to steal from him. everything. and his car. he needed to get the fuck out of state. out of the country, preferably. but he didnt even legally exist, how was he meant to do that?  
across the country. somewhere warm. he needed it.  
a month before he turned sixteen. he didnt know how to drive, would slam on the brakes every five minutes. but he'd been in the car with people enough to understand the general idea.  
he stole everything from tony, although he looked at the other boy as his brother. 30k, and a car. he really did love him, having the only picture of himself being with tony. tony had even given him a necklace, it had a cross on it, it was gold. and it had diamonds in it.he’d told him to save it, and to wait until he found somebody that he loved and wanted a family with, and then sell it.  
tony was his brother. but in his sick, addict mind, he got in the car. he slammed the door. he never looked back. he never went back to nj. straight to california. yup. california. where everything is the more expensive than you could imagine, god, but at least he was warm. small price to pay for not getting frostbite, hed say.  
he lived in that fucking car for around half a year, but the things he had would not last him near as long. they lasted him a month. a month.  
he was sixteen years old, around five thousand dollars in cash. no idea where to go. no idea who anyone was. but at least no one knew him. no one knew anything about him. he wasn't going to do what he did.

he attended school for a short period of time after arriving in california, just to generally avoid any sort of suspicion thrown toward him. he'd had a fake birth certificate made by connections tony had back in New Jersey. he really, really hated it. he was near never there, even though he was trying to avoid suspicion of why he wasnt in school by going to school. people would generally say "you're here today and you were also here yesterday. what's going on?". he got in a lot of trouble, but not exactly the 'cool' type of trouble, considering he got picked on for being a bit of a freak.  
he talked back a lot, walked out a lot, would sit in the bathrooms all day even when he did show up. free food, though, hell yeah. he quickly realized selling drugs to teenagers was not as efficient as it is with adults, and sort of just started coming less and less until he just quit going. he was probably on some truancy list somewhere. in his one year of school, he missed 72 days.

in that summer, jersey ended up meeting tony once again. obviously, he wasn’t happy. jersey had ran from him (obviously). i mean, although jersey was taller, tony was a lot stronger, not to mention weighed a lot more. he wasn’t quite as... malnourished. he’d jumped out of a window, and stolen a car to get away from him, hiding out in an old crack house where a lot of people would come in and out of just to party.  
tony showed up at the door on the second day, knocking a couple times and then telling jersey to get the fuck out and get in his car, nearly dragging him by the arm. jersey, reluctantly, went, although he was literally shaking with fear. the drive was a long one, down many backroads. while they were stopped, jersey managed to steal some hundreds out of the car without tony noticing.  
he half expected tony to kill him. most distributors were violent, terrifying. he knew tony had a gun. he knew he was deciding whether or not to kill him. instead, tony gave him a bus ticket, and told him to leave. find somewhere else. and that they’d never speak again. on jerseys way out of the car, tony grabbed his arm so hard it left bruises, and jersey stared at him. there was a pause, and tony held out his hand.... ten grams of heroin.  
“Don’t you need this?”  
afterwards, his addiction spiralled, he would be in far too many near-death situations to count. for some reason, a lot of them involved girlfriends trying to kill him.  
yeah, he had a type. the type that hated him, that wanted him to die. it's funny in theory, the screaming fights, him getting glass thrown at him first thing in the morning. but it really did fuck him over. every girl he was with was only with him because, well, they were rich. they wanted some sort of excitement in their lives. if his way of living wasnt exciting, what was it?  
he started losing weight, after hed started putting it on for once in New Jersey. he got, somehow, even skinnier. his ribs were sharp, poking out from his sides. his collarbones could hold water. he was too skinny. way too skinny. hed almost stopped eating altogether. he didnt have any money for food. not with his addiction in the way. oh, and the meth. for sure the meth.

jersey got his first real girlfriend whenever he was 16, and her name was riley. she was a sweet girl, though she could get really mean if put under the wrong circumstances. he met her when running from police after a violent drug deal, in which he’d been pistol whipped for his second time ever, and likely needed stitches. she’d been staying at a motel, when he ran straight into her. she told him to watch where the fuck he was going, and when he looked her up and down he realized. yep. she was a hooker. 

she quickly noticed the blood matting his hair down to his face, and asked him if he was alright, before helping him up and taking him back to her room. she was pretty. underneath the dollar tree makeup, fake fur coat, and the jean skirt. she had a pretty face. and who was he to say no to a woman with a pretty face who wanted to help him? she put pressure on it to try to stop the bleeding, and continued to recommend he go to the hospital. it seemed like after the fifth time jersey denied, riley started to realize that he was in some deep shit. he couldn’t exactly leave for probably a few days. 

and she did one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him, taking him in and letting him stay until he felt well enough and safe enough to leave. except, he didn’t leave. he stayed with her, sharing meth with her for free in exchange for letting him stay and taking care of him. she fed him, too. no one had ever really fed him before. 

both of their lives were violent, though in different ways. but it felt like they clicked, and it was someone who finally fucking looked at him without that pity in their eyes. like he wasn’t some kind of kicked puppy. because she was equally as fucked as him, and he appreciated it. 

although, eventually, he spiraled and fucked up again, like he always would. jersey tended to do this thing where when a friendship or relationship would get too serious, he would purposefully ruin it in fear of him hurting the other person by them caring too much. he figured, he was slowly killing himself. on the daily, he was killing himself. near every night he’d take a big shot and hope he didn’t wake up from it. he didn’t want anyone to be sad when he died, especially not riley, with how sweet she was to him.

he just... stopped talking to her too much. started being more of an asshole. he figured she’d kick him out, and when he would finally die, maybe she’d show up. maybe she’d kiss him on the cheek, but be glad he was gone. 

she didn’t feel like that at all. she still cared. 

but she told him he needed to go, and he did.

he went through a mental break when he turned 18. he bleached his hair, stole a car, and went back to detroit. there, he met the mother of his son.  
a beautiful woman, yeah, she was. long, dark hair, hazel eyes, freckles all across her face and shoulders. he met her because she'd run away from home. they were on the same streets, Jersey stuck out, wandering around and staring at things hed seen so long ago. so did she. with her pretty face, her expensive clothes, perfectly done nails. she was rich. 21. so, she wasnt exactly a "runaway". her father was a businessman, she was bored with her life. Jersey couldnt blame her. with him being the way he was, sitting in the same place with everything you could ever want is no way to live. no real living, none at all. she wanted excitement. so she left. jersey could fall in love with that bitchy personality. he did. like always.  
her name was brittany. it suited her.  
hed become the excitement in her life. for around a week. they ended up breaking into a house of some older woman on vacation, and stayed there.  
of course, a girl his type, it ended with her screaming, her throwing things, her smashing a bottle and telling him shed kill him if he didnt get the fuck out.  
what had he done, you might ask? left in the middle of the night, gotten so high he couldnt move in an alley, and didnt return for a day. she was allowed to be angry, but maybe just not... that angry.  
he left. he went back to California, fell asleep in the car hed stolen, and didnt even find out he had a child until a year later.  
although brittany eventually stepped back into the spotlight with her fame, she didn’t really contact her parents much, told them to stop looking for her. she told Jersey to give up too. that he wouldnt be able to find her after she left. he did.  
when he was 24 he knocked on her door. he got it slammed in his face. hed never actually be able to see his child.  
oh well. he wasnt too broken up.  
he couldnt get clean. his (few) attempts were horrible. he would try and try and eventually the memories of everything that had ever happened to him came back. he would start changing again, and he couldnt stand it. he lived in fear. fear of change.  
no one ever really showed Jersey care. those who did ended up being some sort of tragic beauty, chasing after a lost cause and always giving up, or leaving him. it wasnt their fault. he couldnt blame them. not as in the attention seeking "I'd give up on me too" type way, as in, he knew he was a lost cause, he didnt care to fix it. when hes on drugs, hes a pain in the ass, and when he isnt, he just... sort of fades into oblivion.  
he just felt so crushed. like everything continued to pull him down. no matter if he had a home, a girlfriend, money, everything he had only made him more miserable.  
when jersey inevitably overdoses at 29 years old, he does what hes always done.  
he inhales and exhales all the air in his body, tilting his head back. that was the feeling. of pure bliss. of his heart stopping. it was what he chased.  
but instead of five seconds, it didnt stop.  
even in his last moments, he was alone. just how hed always felt.


	2. MARCUS

BASIC 

NAME  
Marcus-Jai Ryker Stevenson  
Marcus was given two first names, one of which being that of his older brother who died as a young child, just before he was born. His middle name comes from his mother.  
Though Stevenson may seem like a common name, in Marcus’ area, it happens to be a name surrounding a family of crime, linked to very serious illegal activity. He carries the family name.

GENDER  
Male, male assigned at birth

AGE  
18-25  
Age will not go over or under this bracket in writings

ORIENTATION  
Gay

PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM  
temp - lil xan

VOICE CLAIM  
x

marcus is 6’1

IN PROGRESS


	3. RILEY

BASIC

NAME: Riley Dylan Keeton  
riley was given the middle name of her father who passed away before she was born, and, never married, carries on the family name of Keeton. as a child, she was often bullied for having an intersex name, being told she sounded like a boy. 

GENDER: female, assigned female at birth.

AGE: 16-24

ORIENTATION: bisexual

PHYSICAL 

FACE CLAIM: abbey lee kershaw 

VOICE CLAIM: jackie burkhart lol

riley was often told she was too beautiful to live the life she was living when she grew up. she had long red hair, bright blue eyes, and was always a skinny young child, never having been able to put back on the weight from whenever she was born ten weeks premature. she’s relatively average in terms of height, 5’5. she has a scar dragged down her right thigh, a bellybutton piercing, and ear piercings which she normally wears hoops in. she was always seen as a dirty, homeless girl with no shoes, matted red hair, but a pretty face buried underneath it all. 

PERSONALITY 

riley, though maybe at times seeing mean or ungrateful, has always been very smart, very wise, giving, and has always been the type of person to do anything for those she considers her family.  
she’s always been very kind, though she turns down a lot of offers and a lot of chances to go live with somebody, considering it charity and pity.  
although being a troublemaker, she has a good soul

IN PROGRESS


	4. CALVIN

DISCLAIMER: i absolutely do not excuse the things i write about in this story. it is a FICTIONAL CHARACTER, who i chose to write as a villain and a way to understand a little bit more on criminal psychology. 

BASIC

NAME  
calvin steven carter 

calvin carries his fathers name last name, his grandfathers first, though oftentimes refuses to go by it. when on the run, he changes his name to calvin carver, as a little play on what he did. another known name that people would call him was ozzy, short for ozymandias. 

“i am ozymandias, king of kings. look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.”

GENDER  
male, male assigned at birth 

AGE  
18-25  
calvin dies after being shot by police at 25 years old, and his spiral begins at 18.  
age will not go over or under this bracket. it is most commonly placed around 20-23.

ORIENTATION  
straight, though in certain times he doesn’t really discriminate 

PHYSICAL

FACE CLAIM  
the hot guy from breaking bad 

VOICE CLAIM  
yung gravy bro

calvin is 6’2, he has tan skin and black hair which is usually partially slicked pack, most likely due to actual grease rather than him doing it himself. he doesn’t shower too often, and often wears the same sorts of outfits.  
he has dark brown eyes, with dark purple circles always underneath them. he’s muscular, though appearing skinnier at first glance.  
he has tattoos down his neck and on his chest and his arms, as well as one along his jawline and one near his temple. he has a nose piercing on the left side, and a piercing underneath his right eye.  
he may be seen as attractive, which matches his personality in a way. 

PERSONALITY

calvin’s personality changes often depending on the person he is around.  
he has bpd, but often appears to those around him as a sociopath. he’s very manipulative, and can be incredibly cruel at times, though when he hurts people he often only views it as saving them.  
instead of being a complete sociopath and not having any type of motivation for the things he does, he is someone who has been hurt many times and uses it as a shitty excuse for his actions, though it doesn’t work. however, as one of the traits of a sociopath, he does not feel remorse for his actions.  
though it may sound different, the scary bit is that calvin is not insane. he knows the difference between right and wrong, and that what he is doing is wrong (although he may not fully be able to grasp why).  
he is, however, very delusional about himself and the world. he believes himself to be both the antichrist and god himself at the same time, and believes that he can’t die, despite being nothing other than human.  
these delusions lead him to believe that it isn’t himself committing these acts, but he is carrying out the work of a higher power.

FAMILY

calvin was adopted. his mother was a 16 year old girl who was raped and carried out the pregnancy before leaving the baby in a park.

MOTHER  
calvin’s mother was always pretty distant from him due to his attitude towards her. she would always make smart remarks when she would walk around the house drunk at 9 AM, and would tell him he wasn’t enough of a man. she would beat him, though he mostly just took it due to her telling him that real men didn’t hit women back. though, at the end of the day, she was the one in his family who did the least to him, he always blamed her the most for taking shit from everybody else, he viewed her as a coward for never standing up for herself or her kids. 

FATHER  
calvin’s father was bigger than him, and he clearly hated his wife. he beat her regularly, in front of his kids, to the point where he’d almost killed her multiple times. he was an angry drunk. the cops would be at the house damn near every night, but they’d always dropped the charges due to calvin’s mom bawling about how much she still loved her husband. he and calvin got in fistfights as calvin got older, and bigger, and matched his size. there would be big fights, broken glass, until calvin would storm out of the house in an angry fit.

BROTHER  
calvin hated his brother. his brother was older than him, and had seemed to have something against him since he was a baby. they got in constant fights, nearly killing each other every time. their mother would be passed out and give the occasional ‘stop fighting, boys’, but never said much else. their father would cheer calvin’s brother on. calvin knew he was the least favorite son. he knew that they adopted him to look like better people to the rest of the town, only fostering him in the beginning for the money, even though they hardly fed him and he slept on the floor.

PAST  
calvin was born from a monstrous crime, something his parents would bring up to him repeatedly as a way to tell him he would end up just like his daddy, a serial rapist-murderer who ended up behind bars eventually. he never served his sentence. he killed himself.  
his foster parents, though they weren’t the best, wanted so badly for calvin to be the perfect son to them, maybe a replacement for their own child. but, from a young age, when they adopted him at three, it was clear that there was something wrong with him.  
as a child he was irrationally angry, even over small things. very quick to judge people, not easily forgiving. even when they gave him food, he hardly ate.  
his biological mother was a very damaged person, even from a young age. she was homeless from a young age and had a dependency on drugs, not stopping when she was pregnant. she excused it with the fact that she did not want this baby, which i suppose is good reason. but, then again, she could have just had an abortion rather than leaving the child with brain damage. calvin was born addicted to heroin and meth, came out of his mother with the shakes and heavy withdrawl symptoms. his mind never fully recovered from it, and he couldn’t speak until he was about five years old.  
maybe that was a big part of why he was so messed up whenever his adoptive family took him in or it could be other things.  
as a child in the foster system, he got passed around a lot before he found a final home. maybe about four homes a year? some of them almost seemed normal. most were doing it for the money, which wasn’t so bad, because they never showed much actual cruelty to him as a baby. he was too little, and, well, most people just aren’t willing to hurt a baby.  
however, it could have also been the violence he was exposed to in the foster system. he was occasionally passed to pedophiles, old men who had got off on bathing him. one of the times, he was passed to someone who he still (as unstable as he is) has no clue how he passed the psychological evaluation to take in a foster child.  
it was a younger man and his wife. this man was a veteran. he had killed many people. he often talked about it and called himself a war hero. calvin couldn’t speak yet, but he could partially understand and remember what they were speaking about.  
this man and his wife didn’t get along too well. they were in constant fights. it would get physical occasionally. but one night, the fight was different from the rest of them. the woman was screaming, she had tears streaming down her face. she was screaming at him to just hit her again, but make it count this time.  
and that’s when the man pulled a gun on her. and he shot her in the head.  
in front of baby calvin. the brain matter and blood splattered back on him. and he didn’t cry much.

calvin started to think, as he got older, maybe that was the time that his obsession with violence started. 

when he got landed with his adoptive family, they weren’t informed of any of this information, or his mental trauma from it. they wouldn’t know. they never found out.  
for a long time, it was almost like calvin wanted to try his hardest that he didn’t turn out like any of those people. he truly wanted to be good, and he strived to become it.  
starting in school, he was incredibly smart, faking his grades to be average. he was bad at making friends, he never really ended up having any until he was older and fell in with the bad crowd because they accepted him better. he would often show up to school, do the work, and not say a single word to anyone throughout the day.  
his teachers had noticed bruises on him, and never had done anything. kids get hurt, right?  
he went to the hospital when he was five because his mother had slammed his face into a countertop until his head busted open, leaving him with 8 stitches and a scar over his eyebrow that he would eventually cover with a tattoo.  
he didn’t get taken away for that. they told the hospital that he fell off while learning to ride a bike, and he, surprisingly, went with it. he figured, maybe he could use it to gain the things that he wanted from his parents in the future. manipulation. he was always good at it.  
at home, his brother was picking on him a lot, though it wasn’t the full on fights that would put them both in the hospital which started when he got older.  
spitting in his food, hitting him, doing things to purposefully scare him. he brought up a lot about how calvin wasn’t actually a part of their family, and how nobody loved him like a child. he also caught onto how their mother would tell calvin he would never be a man. he was incapable of it, somehow. in all of their eyes.  
his brother would call him a monster. tell him about how they all knew who his real father was, and how calvin wasn’t supposed to be here if it weren’t for the actions of such a monster. 

though it may not seem as extreme as other things, nobody in the house remembered calvin’s birthdays. it was such a simple thing, even if it wasn’t a happy birthday, they could’ve said that it was his birthday, or acknowledged it at all. they never did.

calvin turned eight. he was sitting at the table with his family, as they insisted on having dinners together. he had regular intrusive thoughts by now, ones in which he wanted to hurt people or animals. he was picking around his food, not really touching it at all. he was pretty skinny by now. he hated eating. it made him feel as if he had needs, and was on the same level as those he wanted to badly to believe were younger than him.  
his mother was getting on him about not eating, telling him he was disrespectful, and they should’ve just left him in the foster system.  
his father was telling his mother to shut the fuck up, and he was sick of the sound of her voice.  
it was calvin’s eighth birthday.  
his mother was looking at him, saying directly to him how he wasn’t good enough, how he wasn’t enough of a man, how he wasn’t what she wanted.  
calvin just looked back, and spoke in a low voice.  
“i’m never gonna be what you want”  
he stood, already surprisingly tall considering his age, and picked up an empty glass, throwing it at his mother’s head, barely missing. it shattered behind her.  
“drink the rest of that bottle of wine.” he said, his words not mean but his tone vicious.  
he left the house that night, and it was when he decided that he would prove them right.  
that was around the time that his spiral started, and the physical fighting with his older brother. they both ended up in the hospital when calvin was nine.  
he’d killed a couple dogs, and started learning how to shoot with his father, his father finally congratulating him on taking up something men would do.  
idiot.  
calvin would like to believe himself to have very little remorse. which, the majority of the time was very true, even in the beginning. with killing animals and hunting, and shooting. he feels small bouts of guilt, however, where he will cry over his actions, before going back to believing there wasn’t much he could’ve done much about it considering... it was what everyone always told him he would be.  
it escalated the older he got, as well as the fights with his brother. it would be over the smallest things, one of them not doing the dishes, or closing the others door. they put each other in the hospital when calvin was 12 and his brother was 15. calvin’s brother had his nose and wrist broken from calvin bending it backwards, and calvin had his lip busted straight down his chin and needed it sewn back together.  
calvin had grown about as big as he would by the time he was 13. that was when he started fighting his dad and failing school, as well as falling in with the wrong crowd.  
calvin had kind of fallen in with the bad crowd just by fighting a whole lot and getting in trouble for overreacting, being disrespectful, causing scenes. things like that. they introduced him to drugs, and he eventually got hooked on coke. which graduated to meth.  
by fifteen, he was on meth, getting suspended every other week. he did get a girlfriend.  
she hadn’t ever really been in public school before, her name was brittany.  
he knew she was basically just using him to make her parents mad, and that would’ve been fine, if he didn’t get so obsessed with her the way he did.  
their relationship was very clearly unhealthy. they would get in a lot of physical fights just because it was what calvin had been taught most of his life. it wasn’t exactly a situation of him abusing her, though. they beat the shit out of one another, to be honest.  
he got very obsessed with her, thinking she was the love of his life, and he’d finally found someone to be with forever, even if they’d only been together about five months.  
brittany got into a bit of a situation with an ex of hers, normal school-type drama.  
but calvin didn’t exactly see it like that.  
he beat the guy into a coma.  
he got into quite a bit of legal trouble for this, along with brittany leaving him.  
it was the worst period of time in his life, he called it. as well as a sort of mental break.  
calvin remembers a bit from that point in his life. he was turning 16 soon, and his mother had start using him as some kind of substitute therapist. he remembered how his father beat on her, and she started crying after he’d stormed out the house. calvin just looked at her, and said “just leave him.” she looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and said “who else would want me?”. oh, well. he couldn’t disagree with that one. he just gave her a bit of a look of disgust, mostly because she couldn’t just stand up for herself. she leaned onto him, gripping fistfuls of his shirt in her hands and crying onto him.  
he wanted to push her away.  
in fact, it was a time in his life where his violent thoughts went from just thinking to... considering. he went to touch her head, and considered snapping her neck.  
and instead, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and threw her onto the ground.  
and then he left the house.

IN PROGRESS


End file.
